


The Fire

by Perosha



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Drama, Gen, Pre-Kingdom Hearts I, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perosha/pseuds/Perosha
Summary: [ABANDONED FIC] [Pre-KH1] One possible explanation for how Ienzo came to live at the castle with Ansem the Wise.





	1. Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic I tried to write years ago to explore what Radiant Garden might have been like long before the events of KH, when the characters were younger and the darkness was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately I got 40,000 words down across all the chapters before I realized there were just too many kinks that I couldn't iron out, and abandoned the project altogether. But since I did manage to finish the first few chapters, I decided to dust them off and stick them up here for old times' sake. (I am happy to report that in the years since I wrote this, I've weaned myself off the semicolon almost entirely.)
> 
> There's quite a bit more written (including some scenes I'm still rather fond of), but as they're not complete chapters, they can't go up here with the rest. Ah well. That's just how these things go sometimes, isn't it?

“Aeleus, up with you!”

The pounding on the door had already torn Aeleus from sleep; the words made him sit up with a start.

“Fire in the city!” The door did nothing to muffle the boom of Dilan's voice—loud and urgent, despite the blackness of the hour. “We're to assist! Braig already left!”

Even this late in the season, the air was so warm that Aeleus felt no chill when his bare feet hit the flagstones. He was immediately, horribly awake as Dilan's booted footsteps sounded down the hall— _fire in the city—_ as he threw on some clothes Aeleus found his way to the window he'd left open to catch whatever breeze might come in the night. After buttoning up the first shirt he'd managed to grab, he leaned out of the window a little ways, clutching the sill, his heart beginning to pound.

Away southeast, a strange glow flickered on the outskirts of town near the outer wall, the cloudless night eerie with a shuddering orange light that came from the level of the street. Sound carried to him, too, faint and low but unmistakable, and as he watched a tongue of flame flickered up for a moment, small from this distance, like a signal flare.

Fire in the city. The fourth ward was burning.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

Though the paradise of Radiant Garden had no slum, there were neighborhoods that were good and some that were less so, and _less-good_ meant wooden row houses without even foundations of stone, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder three stories high along narrow streets that coiled around themselves like a labyrinth. Such was the layout of the fourth ward, and as Aeleus and Dilan raced through the streets they knew by heart, the stone and tile and metal of the wealthy district surrounding the castle gradually gave way to shops and houses of increasingly cheap timber: a sea of kindling after the hottest, driest summer Radiant Garden could remember. The ax hanging from Aeleus's belt-loop thudded rhythmically against his side as he and Dilan barreled down the cobblestone streets, past lamps lit at intervals as news of the blaze spread, past frightened people huddled on corners in their nightclothes, gaping at the glow of the fire that guided the two royal guardsmen like a beacon.

At full speed it took the pair of them almost twenty minutes to reach the fourth ward, the stars above lost to them in a haze of embers and smoke long before they arrived. When they neared the fire they found a crowd already gathered, separated from the danger of the growing flames by a handful of neighborhood watchmen who had formed a barricade, trying to keep the curious and frantic at bay while letting through those who had enough strength or knew enough magic to be of help. Though neither Aeleus and Dilan wore their uniforms, they were allowed to pass at once. As keepers of the castle, both men were known to every night watchman and constable in the city.

The two guards exchanged a look as they caught their breaths, sweating from exertion and from the heat now pressing on them from the massive blaze a hundred feet away. Already it had claimed ten or twelve houses and begun to touch several more, mostly along one side of the street. That couldn't last, however. If it spread to another street, if the crown of the flames gusted in its own wind and sprayed embers, it could ignite the whole district—and then there would be no stopping it, even with a miracle, until it spent enough energy to become tameable. Most of the town had enough space left open at intervals to act as natural barriers—gardens, plazas, market squares—but nothing like that could be hoped for in this district, and already volunteers had begun organizing themselves, some to bring or summon water but most to evacuate and then destroy the buildings at the farthest edges of the flames. Tearing down the homes set to burn next was the fastest way to contain the fire's spread. If they could hem it in that way, it would run low on fuel, dying back to a size that could be managed with enough time and water and magic.

“Stand aside!” Dilan bellowed to a woman standing in the center of the cobblestone street, gawking at the flames. The order seemed to snap him back to her senses, and he tore away, heading for the relative safety past the barricades a block away. Dilan pressed forward, Aeleus alongside him, and even had they not been well-known, the two strapping men would have had no trouble carving a path through the crowd. A watchman hurried to meet them, saluting as he recognized them.

“The Royal Guard—!”

“How did this happen?” Aeleus asked him. The man never got a chance to answer; Dilan barked at them both from over his shoulder.

“We've no time to wonder that! We must finish setting the fire-breaks! Where is the—”

A deafening crash further down the street startled them all, fire blooming in its wake, drawing screams from further up the street. Two of the flame-soaked row houses had finally caved in on themselves, leaving only the thickest support beams standing inside the flames like spent matches. The wave of extra heat from the blast slammed them all a second later.

“Has everyone escaped?” Aeleus asked the watchman. Dilan had made as if to take off toward the worst of the fire up the street, but held himself back to hear the answer, like a dog straining at its leash.

“We can't be certain!” The watchman's face shone with sweat. “We've tried to rouse everyone we could, but it grew so quickly—the street behind—”

“Then go house to house. Search in pairs.” Aeleus watched the fire move towards them. It seemed to have picked up some steam after the recent collapse; embers rained from the highest column of the blaze like burning seeds, dusting the shingled rooftops, each one sending up new flickers of flame where it landed like bright flowers bursting into life. “We have to make sure the area is clear before we can control it.”

“The fire-breaks—” Dilan started to say again, but cut himself off when a woman staggered out one of the newly-burning houses further up the street, half-choked, a screaming child in tow. The two guards hurried forward, fighting the heat, and Aeleus caught her before she could collapse, letting her rest against him before helping her to stumble onward towards the watchman who could escort her out to the relative safety behind the barricades. She said something, thanked him perhaps, but Aeleus only saw her mouth move. With the inferno now roaring less than fifty feet away, he could hear only people who were right next to him, or shouting.

Though Aeleus and Dilan had not moved far up the street, the distance still put them in the heart of the fire. Heat clawed them from all sides, several houses to the right and almost all of them to the left engulfed in flame, and even the stones of the pavement seemed to scorch them through the soles of their boots. The buildings that weren't completely lost had at least begun to burn, smoke blotting out the stars. It was if they had been thrown into some topsy-turvy hell where the glowing earth illuminated the lightless sky.

Dilan swore.

“We'll be lucky to tame this,” he said; Aeleus did not respond, turning in place to scan the whole street as a pair of constables rushed past. Something was amiss, and fire danced freely across the connected rooftops around him as he hesitated, a bead of sweat running down his temple.

It took him a moment to pinpoint what had struck him, but then he laid eyes on it directly: of the three or four houses burning here, one near at hand had its green door still shut, and every window fastened. With doors hanging wide and windows broken or thrown open in every other building touched by the flames, it made the facade of the home directly across from him stand out in an ugly way, and Aeleus briefly hoped perhaps the building was empty, the residents fled or gone—but his gut knew otherwise. He broke away from the crowd, his stride quickening, the stinging heat increasing with every step forward.

Dilan's voice reached him through the din— _“Don't, Aeleus! Are you mad?”—_ but he ignored it, pressing against the heat that pushed back like a living force as he approached the green door.

(It was a rash decision—uncharacteristically so for Aeleus—and in later years he sometimes wondered whether fate had urged him to it.)

One swing of his ax splintered the door's lock, and the sudden surge of hot air blinded him as he shoved the door open with a shoulder, stooping to avoid the worst of the smoke roiling across the ceiling. That was a much greater danger than open flames or falling debris; the fumes could rob a man of his senses in a minute or less, the greedy fire sucking oxygen until even the stoutest person dizzied and collapsed, overcome. If there was no one here—

Though Aeleus could barely see through the smoke and sweat, he could tell at least from the look of the stairwell that the second story was completely aflame, and might even buckle soon; nothing could be left up there, not when the inferno had come down from the roof to begin with. Aeleus coughed violently, eyes watering, bending his knees to stoop lower and scan the rest of the small house beneath the thickest layer of smoke.

A glimpse of the back room gave an impression of bodies twisted along the floor, clothes alight, skin charred black. Probably they had suffocated before the fire even reached them, invisible gases and dwindling oxygen stupefying them so deeply that not even the incredible heat seeping through the wall had been enough to rouse them before the end came. He was too late, then.

The sickening feeling that came to him couldn't be dealt with, not amidst the heat and smoke and sweat and adrenaline; too many others needed help now for whatever he felt to matter. Eyes stinging from the fumes, Aeleus turned away, ready to lunge for the front door and follow the smoke outside—and then he saw it. A child lay huddled under the kitchen table, five or six but no older, his hair cut long on one side so that it hid the right side of his face.

A weaker man than Aeleus could have pushed the table away with no trouble, and so when he knocked it aside it shattered against the fiery back wall, one leg breaking off. The boy weighed nothing; when Aeleus scooped him up it took half a second to feel sure he'd really grabbed him. It was none too soon. As Aeleus lunged for the open front door, a chunk of the ceiling fell through right where the table had been, nearly catching the back of his shirt aflame. The embers from it scorched the back of his neck raw.

The outside exploded against him as if breaching the surface after almost drowning. The heat biting every inch of his flesh grew less potent as he put distance between himself and the flames, and a few steps out the air was blessedly breathable again, stinging against his burned skin but clear and cool and welcome. Though Aeleus had been inside the house less than a minute, it still took every effort to keep himself from reeling as he fought the effects of the smoke; he only regained full clarity when someone cast Cure on him in passing, and when he coughed, the taste in his mouth nearly made him sick. He forced himself to inhale deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, steadying himself.

“Aeleus! You damned fool—!”

But Dilan clearly had not heeded his own warning. He stood panting in the middle of the street, glistening with sweat, his long hair singed; burns shone raw on his upper body where his shirt had been damaged, and in one arm he held a child with red hair, no more than two years old, sobbing and soot-blackened but very much alive. The little girl shook in Dilan's grasp, her nightdress torn, and when Dilan tried to set her down on the cobblestones she shrieked and clung to him tighter, her arms going around his neck as she buried her face into his broad chest and wailed, the shrill sound broken by coughs. Dilan made an effort to pry her away, but saw it was no good and let her be, his shoulders heaving as he gulped fresh air.

A fire brigadewoman rushed forward, casting a spell on the girl and then Dilan; the guard did not so much as flinch as the burns he'd sustained bubbled and then smoothed. The spell's effect on the girl was less to tend her wounds (she seemed unhurt) and more to calm her mind. She quivered and loosened her grip on Dilan's chest enough for him to prize her off, passing her to the brigade volunteer, who darted away. Dilan hurried to him.

“Is he alive?”

Aeleus looked to the young boy in his arms. He'd had no idea whether the child had suffocated or not, but now he could see a frantic pulse beating in his throat, his one visible eye wide—almost catatonic—but the pupil dilating in response to the blinding light of the fire. He didn't seem injured, at least not badly, though there were blisters on his face and neck that matched those forming on Aeleus's exposed skin.

“Take him to safety, Aeleus! We're needed!”

Dilan sprinted away. Aeleus signaled to another passerby wearing the orange armband of the fire brigade, and soon the stinging abated as a spell penetrated him, the burns fading to nothing. He felt the boy cling to him harder as the magic worked on him too, but Aeleus did not let go of him; the healer had pelted away before the spell had even finished, up to where the fire looked worst at the far end of the street. Aeleus followed.

Already the blaze had devoured every house on the corner where the narrow street backed up onto another that curved away behind it sharply, like the bend of a hairpin. Here the fire loomed largest, and at this size it had a life of its own, billowing so tall that it generated its own winds. Unfought it would have spread down the next block long ago, but desperate effort prevented it; several houses had been knocked down to clear a level area that the fire could not so easily cross, and volunteers filled the space between with water and magical ice, so that as Aeleus approached his boots splashed through filthy water running like blood between the cobblestones.

Off to one side Dilan stood alone, his violet eyes flashing as he pulled at the winds by himself, wrestling with the inferno. A tendon showed taut in his neck as he struggled, sweat pouring from him, his will and magic keeping at bay what might otherwise have become a vortex of flame. When a roof beam in one of the gutted houses cracked and split, shooting up a pillar of fire from the building's innards, he roared and tore harder at the air, starving the newest flames.

Aeleus would have joined the effort had he been empty-handed. Instead he looked around, hoping to see a free brigade member or medic, a volunteer, someone who could take the boy to safety (where was safety at time like this?)—and then someone called to him, sprinting forward.

Braig had tied his ragged red scarf around his mouth to filter the fumes, and so when he yelled Aeleus could not understand him. But he jabbed a finger behind him, pointing up another street that curved northwards away from the blaze before turning and pelting up it himself, blurry after-impressions of his body trailing behind him. Aeleus adjusted his grip on the boy and ran after him.

As they gained distance from the blaze, the scorching heat on his back lessened, though he could still feel it as he approached another makeshift barricade that had been erected halfway up the side street. Braig leaped over it, saying something to one of the constables. Despite the danger, a crowd had gathered behind the barricade, watching the fire rise into view over the closest row of rooftops.

When Aeleus reached the barricade, the crowd behind it parted for a disheveled man in embroidered nightclothes who staggered as if drunk. Though all color had drained from his features, he was nonetheless unmistakeable, golden-haired and golden-eyed and regal even in disarray: Ansem the Wise, the sage-king of Radiant Garden. He wore no crown nor any other token of prestige, but everyone in the crowd knew him for their ruler and stood aside, leaving him alone in the street, facing the carnage. The fire seemed to mock his authority with its roar.

“How did this happen?”

_“Does that matter right now, sir?!”_ Braig hollered through his scarf, his voice muffled. Ansem shook his head as if to clear it, one hand touching his temple, and then he seemed to awaken. A fire lit in his eyes that matched the one at which he stared; his expression sobered.

“The castle will be opened! All who need shelter are welcome! The injured as well—any overflow from the infirmaries—”

The order rippled through everyone within earshot. Aeleus pressed past the barricade, supporting the boy against his chest with one hand.

“Braig, go ahead of the crowd,” Ansem was saying. “Open the castle gate, the side entrance, through the gardens. Give use of the south hall. Hurry!”

From a pouch at his belt, Ansem pulled a fist-sized bundle of enormous iron keys: to the castle grounds, the various gates, the main courtyard. Braig snatched them up at once and saluted quickly, and what of his face could be seen beneath the scarf looked uncharacteristically grim. At once he bounded away like a cat, warping space so that a single leap carried him two or three houselengths, the jangling of the keys lost in the din.

“Aeleus—”

Ansem turned to him, but whatever command he had been about to give fell away at the sight of the little boy clinging to Aeleus with wide eyes. It seemed to stun Ansem like a blow, so that for a moment the horror of what was happening to his subjects showed in every line of his ashen features. Then it fell beneath the surface again—not gone, but channeled. He drew himself up.

“To the castle!” he called again. “The injured, the homeless—to the castle!”

Someone took up the cry. As another surge of fire lit the sky behind, _to the castle_ spread through the crowd, and a pair of watchmen did their best to usher everyone back. As they did, Aeleus caught the attention of a woman in a medic's uniform.

“Are you heading to the castle?” (She nodded, her mouth set firm.) “Take him with you.”

She accepted the boy without question. When the boy's weight left his arms a pang struck Aeleus, something nameless, a cousin of the same sick horror that had contorted Ansem's face as he saw the fire's cruelty up close.

Aeleus turned away. His mind kept an imprinted image of the silent boy being carried away, his blue eye reflecting the light of the flames that grasped hungrily for the stars.


	2. The First Day

The fire could not be fully subdued until late the next morning. Even afterward, the leveled street smoldered, smoke hanging over the whole district, and the air above continued to shimmer in a haze long after the visible fire had subsided. By eleven o'clock the barricades at either end of the street keeping onlookers out of harm's way had been piled high with flowers.

Aeleus heard of this piecemeal, having been stationed up at the castle at dawn. He and Dilan had taken turns overseeing the south hall through the night, and Aeleus had slept a little in his sooty clothes, sitting in a corner of the hall with his chin on his chest, woken sometimes by a frightened citizen with a question, or a sharp cry from one of the injured being treated in the cloisters. Daybreak made the work easier but more grim, as those who had only been lightly injured left for the comfort of friends and family, while a few of those who had been very badly hurt finally succumbed. The eastern cloister became a makeshift morgue.

He left the hall only a few times, at the most for only just long enough to eat and shave and put on his uniform, since there was plenty for him and Dilan to do. Ansem's announcement had been well-intentioned, but once morning arrived and news of the blaze reached every corner of the city, people headed up to the castle out of fear or curiosity just as often as from need of help. More often than not, visitors were neither victims nor those looking for someone, but simply concerned citizens eager to lend a hand however they could, and these had to be turned away at the door to keep the hall from overcrowding. Ansem himself only returned to the castle twice, never staying long either time, but when he did he made it a point of speaking to as many people as he could.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he told Merlin the wizard, on one of his brief stops back up to the castle. (Aeleus gathered Merlin had been half the reason that the makeshift fire breaks had worked as well as they had.) Merlin cleaned his spectacles with the hem of his robe.

“Just doing my civic duty, I should say!” He put his glasses back on, his white mustache and beard still peppered with soot. “I only wish I could have been of more help. Good heavens, what an awful thing to happen...”

The other castle resident who put in appearances throughout the morning was Even. He hadn't gone down to the scene of the fire, but had met the first caravan of arrivals at the gates, wide-eyed in his nightgown; after dawn he appeared in the south hall for long stretches, doing what he could to help. Though the scientist knew more about dissecting things than putting them back together, his extensive knowledge still proved of use, and he was sometimes to be seen advising the medical personnel.

“Do they know what caused it?” he asked Aeleus and Dilan, the first time he came into the hall.

“An accident, most likely,” said Dilan, leaning on his lance as he stood guarding the entrance to the cloisters.

“Doubtless.” Even touched his chin. “I meant more specifically...but I suppose we can only speculate at this juncture.”

He started up a stream of low but steady self-talk, evidently trying to deduce how the blaze might have started. Aeleus let it go in one ear and out the other, so that only bits of fact and theory reached him at intervals: _ well, of course, if there'd been a flashover in any of the affected buildings...average temperature of a thousand degrees or so, human tissue instantly destroyed at one sixty-two... _

Braig could get from place to place quicker than anyone, and so spent the whole morning down at the scene of the fire, relaying messages and running whatever other errands Ansem needed done. It was through him that most of their news came, since Ansem himself kept too busy to do much more than give his apprentices orders on the rare occasions he stopped by.

“Seems like we did a good job last night, all things considered,” was Braig's verdict at noon, wiping his brow with his scarf. “All they're findin' down there now is a body once in a while. Looks like everybody who was halfway in one piece made it out already.”

He looked across the south hall, one side of which had been transformed into a temporary emergency station, having caught the overflow from the two small district hospitals closest to the blaze. Radiant Garden was not a place that tragedy chose to visit often, and though many had risen to the occasion admirably, their courage did nothing to numb the shock that hung over the whole town as the magnitude of the situation became clear. With a dozen deaths confirmed so far, it was already the city's worst disaster in living memory.

Braig was right, however: neither the death toll nor the number of injured were as high as might have been expected given the scale of the fire. All morning the south hall was a scene of reunions, and most of them were joyous, as family and friends and neighbors found each other at last, their worst fears dispelled. But once in a while a different scene played out—one where the sought-after person could not be located, or where they hobbled away only with help, or where the white-faced searchers were led into the cloisters to see if they might be able to find who they sought beneath a sheet.

Aeleus witnessed one such moment early in the afternoon. He had been keeping an eye on the cloisters to ensure no one passed in or out who shouldn't, and when he looked in at one point, he saw a brown-haired boy of twelve or thirteen standing among the half a dozen bodies laid beneath linen under the colored glass windows that lined the far wall. Nearby waited a dark-haired girl the boy's own age, and though her expression radiated concern, she seemed unsure of whether to approach him, as he was already talking to a medic. At the girl's heels sat a puppy, and in its unusual stillness it seemed to mirror her attitude.

Aeleus watched as the healer guided the boy down the row, stopping beside one of the bodies. Even from a distance, he could read her lips as she pulled back the cloth: _ is this your mother? _

The boy went pale at the sight of whatever charred and broken thing had been revealed to him beneath the sheet. He nodded, his fists clenching tight enough to whiten the knuckles, and the woman draped the sheet back down, leaving the boy staring at the spot where, perhaps, something like a face had been.

Suddenly he turned away, as if he'd been slapped, and the girl with the puppy hurried forward, catching up to him just as his stride began to pick up speed.

“Squall—”

She reached out and closed her hand around his wrist, tethering him to her like a lifeline. For a second it looked like the boy might stop—he glanced over his shoulder—but then he broke away.

“Squall—wait!”

She ran after him, the puppy scampering along behind as she followed him out of the south hall and down the steep stairway outside, into the public gardens that surrounded the castle. People stared after them, and whispered once they'd passed out of earshot.

Such was the nature of the day.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

Ansem did not return to the castle for good until early in the afternoon. He had spent the entire morning in town, deciding how the immediately available resources should best be spent, and now that this was done he busied himself with making good on his word from the night before, descending from his ivory tower to walk among the people. This was something of a novelty, actually. Though everyone knew the name Ansem the Wise, he did not venture from the castle much, and when he did it was only to the borough that hugged it close, the Old Town and surrounding fountains. Thus for Radiant Garden's citizens Ansem was less a king and more a guardian spirit, revered but unseen except in times of great sadness or celebration, and Ansem himself seemed aware of this as he moved through the hall, his gaze set but his face heavy, trying to imbue the same words of comfort with as much feeling even as he said them for the twentieth time.

“Your Lordship cannot ease every heart,” Dilan ventured to remark, when Ansem had a free moment to speak to the guards.

“Perhaps not,” was Ansem's reply. “But it falls upon me to try.”

As the day wore on, the castle that had filled in the morning gradually emptied again, the flood of reunions trickling to almost nothing. Those who had come to the castle to find someone and failed went to search the hospitals closer to the scene of the fire, and the injured who couldn't make it out alone were assisted to wherever they might be more comfortable—a relative's home, or a friend's. When the hall was almost empty, the girl Dilan had rescued the night before was taken away by an older woman who left the cloisters crying, a healer's hand on her shoulder. She smiled through her tears when the little girl broke away from the woman who had been watching her and toddled over to her.

“Oh, Kairi...”

The old woman knelt and opened her hand to reveal a necklace: a single pearl-like pendant on a thin chain that seemed to glow faintly in the light from the high glass windows. Something about the way she smiled through her tears as she fastened it around the toddler's neck made it obvious the necklace had come from whomever she had just identified in the cloisters.

“Kairi...Let's go home.”

Aeleus held the outer door open wider for them when they left hand-in-hand, the girl babbling excitedly.

“She's very young,” Dilan mused, watching the pair of them disappear down the stairway. “She'll keep no memory of any of this.”

_ Nor of her parents, _ Aeleus thought, but did not say it.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

For nearly an hour afterwards as he worked the hall, Aeleus thought that the girl had been the last victim to leave; he was wrong. On his way back from a trip to the kitchens he noticed one of the side entrances to the library hanging ajar, and knew at once that some visitor from the south hall had managed to slip past him and Dilan and reach the rest of the castle. This particular side door was never used by the apprentices, since the other entrances were much more convenient, and in fact Aeleus had assumed it was kept locked, though he'd never actually tried the door to be sure. Now he grimaced and pulled the half-open door wider, ducking inside, hoping that whoever had trespassed still remained in here. Otherwise he would have to waste time tracking them down and escorting them back to the hall.

The familiar library seemed to rise up and welcome him with its warm woods and gilt furnishings. Each of Radiant Garden's bygone eras had left its own mark on the castle, and most of the structure was stone and steel, ancient bones wedded to metal ductwork and tangled pipes, hallways gleaming white or brassy brown or sometimes, in the very oldest places, gray and weary stone—but none of that appeared in the library. Stepping inside it felt like entering the inner sanctum of a temple, since it was one of the few areas of the castle that had never been visibly mechanized. There was no polished metal here, no tile or pipes or busy machinery to compete with the solemnity of knowledge.

The high, narrow windows of the two-story room had been crafted of golden stained glass, so that it always seemed lit by the light of the world's first dawn. Bookshelves reached nearly to the ceiling along every wall and made a maze of the room in the middle, but Aeleus was tall enough to see over the tops of them, and so could scan the room without much effort. Once he had, he stepped forward, navigating between the shelves towards an alcove beneath one of the stairwells that curved up along the rounded wall, leading to the second level. He was conscious of the sound of his boots against the worn floor, and made his way across the room with as much care as he could, feeling loud even so. When he reached the alcove he ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the bottom of the stairs.

The boy Aeleus had pulled from his burning house the night before lay on his side in the corner of a reading sofa, pressed into the faded red velvet, his body curled around something large and flat clutched tight against himself. Aeleus approached him, but the sound did not wake the boy, nor did the act of switching on the lamp in a wall sconce.

He was asleep, his breathing audible in the stillness like the beating of a sparrow's wings. Dirt and soot stained the one side of his face that Aeleus could see, except for the tracks cut down his cheek by the flow of tears. His filthy clothes had left smears on the velvet. He was small for his age, Aeleus thought, and it made the book with him look that much larger, pressed against his chest like an oversized plate of armor.

Aeleus glanced at what of the book's title he could see between the boy's arms. It was one of the many old compendiums of magic that the castle had accumulated, and it struck Aeleus that the boy had selected such a thing, out of all of the books within his reach on the bottom of the library's dozens of shelves. Surely he couldn't have been reading it? It was too advanced for a child, especially one so young. Was he even old enough to know how to read on his own?

He watched the boy sleep. Part of him was loathe to disturb it; he did not need to know the boy to understand why he might have fled the loud, bustling south hall and wandered the corridors, seeking peace and quiet. Aeleus himself would have done the same. But he couldn't be left alone here. (The question of how the boy had managed to sneak out at all occurred to Aeleus, but there was enough else to worry about that it did not trouble him, except as a nagging guilt that perhaps he, himself, had not been vigilant enough.)

Aeleus gently slid the book out of the boy's grasp. As he did he sank to one knee, so that when he boy stirred awake he found Aeleus just above eye level instead of towering over him like a tree. Still, the boy started, his eye widening.

Neither of them moved or spoke at first. Then the boy squirmed, sitting up, and Aeleus set the book on the sofa next to him as if in apology, resting his forearm across his knee.

“You must return to the south hall. When someone comes for you, that's where they'll be looking.”

He gazed into the boy's one visible eye, as bright blue as the ones Aeleus saw in the mirror each morning. The boy swallowed, then reached up and rubbed his face on his sleeve, which served only to smear his tears and the ash on his skin together, streaking across his face like war paint. In the orange light from the stained glass windows there was something cruelly pathetic about it—the dirt on his face, the tears, the state of his clothes—a tragic orphan from some tacky paperback, suddenly, when the night before he'd had dinner with his family and gone to bed like always.

Aeleus wordlessly offered to pick the boy up, and the boy let him, clinging to Aeleus's chest when the tall guard plucked him from the sofa and stood, being careful not to hit his head on the bottom of the stairway that curved along the wall above.

“You'll be all right.”

The boy clutched Aeleus's uniform tighter. His breath hitched, as if he were going to speak, but no words came. Aeleus adjusted his grip to better support the boy's weight against him and turned away, leaving the book on the sofa.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

Ansem had not slept—or if he had, then not enough to matter. The shadows beneath his amber eyes made them seem that much more striking, though weariness had taken the shine out of them, so that they had the look of raw gold that had been sullied. When he let himself stand still he sometimes swayed, clutching the wall or nearest piece of furniture for support, but every suggestion that he pace himself was met with a handwave and insistence that no, no, he was fine. By nightfall it had caught up with him.

“Your Lordship should take rest.”

Ansem winced as Aeleus helped him into a chair; he had to clutch the high back of it when he nearly lost his balance, briefly dizzied. If he hadn't slept at all, he hadn't eaten much, either.

“In due time, Aeleus.”

The ruler of Radiant Garden perched on the edge of the chair, but despite his efforts his shoulders slumped, and finally he surrendered and set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, holding his head in one hand. But he let himself sit like this for only half a minute before looking up again, squaring his shoulders even as he rubbed his temple with one hand.

After the frantic night and busy day, the south hall, nearly emptied, felt silent and cavernous without the jostle of bodies and the echo of voices. Able-bodied survivors had gone to see what, if anything, remained of their homes, and to put themselves up with friends and relatives; the injured had been moved to the closest infirmary where they could be properly cared for, and the last of the dead had been taken away.

“Do we have a final tally of the victims?” Ansem asked, watching two of the remaining volunteers fold up a linen sheet.

“Fifteen deaths, my lord. Forty-one still injured to various extents. The third ward's infirmary has most of them.”

Ansem closed his eyes, drew a deep breath through his nose, and then sighed as he opened his eyes again.

“And everyone else is accounted for?” His gaze swept the empty hall. “All those who lost their homes have found shelter?”

“No, Your Lordship.”

Ansem looked over at Aeleus sharply, raising his head out of his hand.

“There is someone left here—a young boy. No one came for him today. He's been here since the middle of the night.”

Ansem's brow furrowed, and he scanned the empty hall again, frowning.

“His parents haven't claimed him?”

“They were lost to the fire, sir. The healers told me several neighbors identified the bodies. They've been sent to the morgue.”

“Heavens.” Ansem held his head in one hand, squeezing his temple tightly before looking up again. “And no other relatives came forward, you said?”

“Not to my knowledge, Your Lordship. It's possible they don't know to come up to the castle. They may not realize he survived.”

Ansem gave another sigh, this one deeper.

“Light preserve us...Well, we'll have to locate his family. Where is he now?”

Wincing, Ansem pulled himself to his feet, and Aeleus led him across the darkening hall to where the boy had retreated to an out of the way corner, wrapped in shadow. As they approached he looked up, his expression worried.

Ansem lowered himself to one knee. The boy raised his head, his hair swaying; Aeleus noticed that he seemed to have tried to clean his dirty face on his sleeve, with little success.

“Can you speak?” Ansem asked.

A slow nod, eventually.

“Tell me your name.”

“...Ienzo.”

His voice was as small as his body, and hoarse—from disuse, perhaps. Ansem laid a hand on the boy's shoulder; when he spoke again it was softly, matching the boy's volume.

“Ienzo...has anyone from your family come by the castle?”

The boy shook his head.

“Your parents...” He stopped himself from finishing the thought. “Where do your other relatives live, Ienzo? Your grandparents? An aunt or uncle?”

Silence.

“Ienzo, please answer me. I would like to send you to them. You must be very frightened, but we can get you to your family if you only help us find them.” The hand on the boy's shoulder squeezed gently. “Do you know what district they live in? What street?”

“...There's no one else.”

Ansem and Aeleus exchanged looks.

“How do you mean?” Ansem asked.

When no answer came after a few moments, Ansem let go of the boy's shoulder and made as if to say something, then stopped himself. He met the boy's gaze, closed his eyes, and sighed; when he opened his eyes again he pulled himself back to his feet, staggering. The boy stood too, as if he'd interpreted the gesture as a command.

“Well, it can't be helped. Aeleus?”

“Sir.”

“See to it that this boy is fed and gets some proper rest. I'd rather not send him away with a stranger, and I certainly won't have him sleeping out here on the floor. Find him a place in the castle, just for tonight...I must see to other things.”

Ansem turned away, his coat rustling, leaving Aeleus alone even as he nodded his acknowledgment of the order. The boy—Ienzo—stared up at him in silence.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The ground floor kitchenette in the eastern wing had been part of the servants' quarters once, long ago in the castle's history when servants had been necessary. A door in the inner courtyard opened directly into a mudroom attached to the tiny kitchen, and the wobbly table only seated four people if they had absolutely no need of elbow room. The royal guards had used this back door at first simply because it was a faster route to most of the castle than going by one of the main entrances, but the habit of passing in and out of the place so often had eventually made them unofficially claim it for themselves.

They were always “going to” renovate the kitchen to better suit their needs (at least, Dilan claimed he might), but somehow the right time to do it never bothered to arrive. Seasons came and went, and the pipes stayed exposed, and the oven and stove stayed unreliable, and the cabinet doors stayed creaky and loose. But it was far more convenient to throw together lunch or brew a pot of tea here than in the cavernous main kitchens, and if any of the guards had downtime, there was a good chance they spent at least some of it here. So it was that as Aeleus led Ienzo down the corridor by the hand, they both smelled the kitchen long before they reached it, and pushing the door open revealed Dilan standing at the stovetop with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, looking grim and worn even while tending to a simmering pot of something that smelled delicious.

“What news from the hall?” Dilan asked, without looking up. Aeleus gently nudged Ienzo towards the nearby table, and Dilan glanced up long enough to notice and then recognize him, his thick eyebrows raising. “And what is this about, Aeleus?”

“His name is Ienzo.” Aeleus nodded at the boy, who was looking between them in turn as they spoke. “He's to spend the night in the castle, per His Lordship.”

Dilan gave the boy an inquiring look, then turned his attention back to the stove.

“I suppose you'd like me to feed him, then?”

“I'd appreciate it.”

Dilan made a grumpy noise, but did not argue; if Ansem wanted the boy around, that was the end of that. Aeleus pulled back one of the chairs so that Ienzo could clamber into it, and when he did, his legs dangled a foot off of the floor.

“What do you want, boy?” Dilan asked gruffly, not looking over his shoulder. “Because there's soup and not much else.” He ladled a heaping portion of it into a bowl emblazoned with the heart-shaped crest of the royal castle. “And the bread's going stale. Will you still eat it?”

Instead of answering Dilan, Ienzo looked up at Aeleus.

“He doesn't speak much,” Aeleus explained.

“No? Hm. Well, that's hardly worth complaining about.” Dilan gave the boy another long look, this one approving, as he portioned out some soup for himself. “Better for a man to hold his tongue and be rumored a fool than open his mouth and remove all doubt.”

On cue the door to the courtyard burst open, and in came Braig, dusted with soot, the door slamming behind him as he kicked it shut with one mud-crusted boot. His tattered scarf hung so loosely that it seemed in danger of falling off, and dark stubble shaded his neck and jaw, making him look like even more of a ruffian than usual. He scratched at his cheek as he peeled off his dirty gloves, talking to no one all the while.

“Whew! Man, am _ I _ glad to be off-duty. Runnin' on coffee and three hours of sleep over here.” He passed a hand through his hair, usually slicked back but now grimy and matted, and plucked at his dirty scarf. “Ugh. Who knows if this smell is ever gonna come out of—hey-oh!”

He stopped in his tracks, having finally noticed Ienzo sitting at the table.

“Hey, guys, what gives? What's a kid doing back here?”

“His Lordship's orders, evidently,” said Dilan, cutting into a half-loaf of bread. Braig's eyebrows raised, and he looked over at Aeleus.

“What—is he from the fourth ward?”

Aeleus nodded.

“His place go up in smoke?”

Another, sterner nod.

“Yikes. That's rough.” Braig bent at the waist, fists on hips, to peer into the young boy's face. “Sorry to hear that, squirt.”

He didn't really sound it, but Braig never sounded sincere about anything, except sometimes briefly if he was very angry. Dilan threw him a sharp look that he ignored, still peering into the boy's face; the boy stared back, unfazed.

“Well, hang in there, little dude.” Braig gave him a rough pat on the head, as if he were a stray dog, before straightening up; the gesture made the boy wince. “Tough times for all of us. What do they call you?”

“Ienzo,” Aeleus supplied.

“Ienzo, huh? Cool name.”

The boy said nothing.

“You like seein' the inside of the castle, Ienzo?”

The boy said nothing. Braig chuckled.

“Heh. Chatty little guy, isn't he? Slow down, squirt, lemme get a word in edgewise.”

“Don't harass the child, Braig,” Dilan growled, turning down the heat on the stovetop. “He's been through an ordeal.”

“Oh, lighten up. Kid can take a joke, right?” He stuffed his gloves into his pocket. “Hell knows we're gonna need a few around here after this. You seen Master Ansem? Runnin' himself ragged since last night.”

“It's expected of him.”

“Yeah, well, he still might pass out if he's not careful.” Braig scratched at the stubble on his neck. “Someone oughta conk him over the head and throw him in an armchair, force him to get some shuteye.”

Dilan crossed the room, carrying two plates of bread and steaming soup, and set one of them down in front of Ienzo when he reached the table.

“A word to the wise, boy: ignore everything this chatterbox says.”

As Dilan took a seat on the other side of the table, he jerked his head over at Braig, his long dreadlocks swinging at the gesture. Braig laughed heartily, as if he himself considered it good advice, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, taking a few steps backwards to wipe his boots on the mat, which he had neglected to do initially.

“Well, if anybody needs me, I'll be taking a well-earned snooze. Holler at me if the master sounds the alarm.”

He gave an exaggerated stretch and cracked his neck, then trotted out, leaving faint muddy footprints in his wake. Dilan scowled after him, but evidently his hunger outweighed his irritation, as he let the matter be and fell to eating without a word. It took him a bit to notice that Ienzo, sitting across from him at the small table, still hadn't touched his food.

“Go ahead with that, boy,” he said, a bit sharply. “I haven't poisoned it.”

He watched Ienzo with a frown, and when Ienzo still did nothing, Dilan reached forward, picking up the hunk of bread on the rim of Ienzo's plate and tearing it into thirds.

“Eat.” He held out one of the now more manageably-sized pieces of bread. “It's important to keep your strength up.”

Ienzo met Dilan's gaze, then looked up at Aeleus, still standing behind his chair. When Aeleus nodded to him, the little boy accepted the piece of bread, dipping it into his bowl of soup and taking first one bite (his eye lit up), then another. Dilan watched long enough to satisfy himself that the boy was going to obey, then returned to his own meal.

Aeleus took the opportunity to fix himself a plate, combining the last of the bread with some odds and ends to make a sandwich before seating himself at the table. It was cramped enough with Dilan beside him that he couldn't pull his chair all the way forward, and so he sat a couple of feet back, being careful not to spill anything.

Neither Dilan nor Aeleus had use for idle chatter, so silence reigned as they ate, the only sound the clatter of silverware and the crunch of bread crusts, Dilan sometimes pausing to brush a strand of long hair out of his eyes. He considered looking presentable as important a duty as anything else, and so seeing him this unkempt emphasized how extraordinary the situation was: uniform wrinkled, collar open and gloves off, dreadlocks a little loose so that more strands of hair fell into his face than usual. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealed that some of the hair on his forearms had been singed off by the fire, and closer inspection showed that one of his prized sideburns had sustained damage, too, though he'd done his best to comb it over.

When the edge had been taken off their collective hunger, all three of them began to eat more slowly, pausing between bites. Dilan kept glancing to Ienzo with interest, though his brow stayed furrowed, so that anyone who didn't know him might have thought him displeased in some way. Aeleus knew better. A scowl was simply Dilan's reaction to most things, whether good or ill.

“You're fortunate to have survived, boy,” was the only comment he made, once he'd finished eating. “Fate must have spared you for her own reasons.”

This was about as encouraging as the pessimistic guardsman ever got, and Dilan said it with an air of finality, pushing his chair back from the table. The kitchen was so small that the chair back clattered against the wall.

“I don't like to say it, Aeleus, but Braig is right. We'll have our work cut out for us after this.” He looked over. “Did His Lordship mention who ought to take first watch? Braig was scheduled for it, but clearly...” When Aeleus shook his head, he added, “I could stand it, if need be. I slept a little this morning.”

“Don't push yourself. I don't think the master expects us to keep the watches right now.”

Dilan snorted, as though Aeleus had said something crass.

“I'll take first,” he said, “and I'll rouse Braig for the second, whether he likes it or no. You have other business.”

He jerked his head to indicate Ienzo, and it was only then that the two men realized the little boy was nodding off—he had slumped forward in his chair, his hair dangling. Dilan grimaced and reached across the table to prop Ienzo up by the shoulder so that he wouldn't face-plant into his soup bowl. The sudden touch made him start, blinking.

“Tch.” Dilan let go of Ienzo, watching him struggle to keep his head up. “The boy's dead on his feet, Aeleus. You'd best put him to bed.”

Though Dilan's tone was as brusque as ever, Aeleus knew him well enough to appreciate that this was an almost extraordinary display of concern. When Aeleus stood, Ienzo slid off of his chair as well, but the act seemed to take him great concentration. Aeleus and Dilan exchanged a look, and Dilan nodded. He would clear the table.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The castle had overnight guest rooms, but they were needed so infrequently that most of them had been gutted, their furnishings put to better use in the few areas that Ansem and his apprentices actually lived in. The few guest rooms that still stood furnished and ready for visitors had a musty air about them, palpably neglected, and lay along both sides of a wide hall on the far end of the castle, always out of sight and often out of mind.

Aeleus made his way from the kitchenette up to the ground level foyer, Ienzo alongside. Though the guardsman walked slowly, the boy was slower still; the heavy meal after a whole day without food had drugged him. His feet dragged, his shoes scuffing the stone as they reached the foyer, its gilded electric chandelier humming above them.

When Ienzo stumbled on the hem of a rug, he would have fallen to the floor had he not knocked into Aeleus's leg on the way down. Aeleus bent and scooped him up. Exhaustion had claimed him utterly, the way it could only do to children; he did not even have the energy to cling on to Aeleus, hanging as fifty pounds of dead weight in his arms as they continued up the hall.

Not for a moment did Aeleus consider dumping Ienzo in one of the empty guest rooms on the far side of the castle and leaving him there alone all night. Instead he took his usual route through the lower halls, past the library and former drawing-rooms, up two flights of spiral stairs that coiled tightly around themselves as they stretched up the castle, arriving at last on the hallway of the south tower where the Royal Guard was quartered. Generations ago, the tower had been filled with people—servants, guardsmen, the various staff it took to keep the castle running—but centuries of steadily changing times (and steadily improving technology) had all but emptied the castle, and the tower along with it. That the three men who had been named guards in the present slept here was not a necessity, but a choice made to honor tradition.

Ienzo did not stir when they reached the landing, nor as Aeleus crossed the long hall, nor when he stopped in front of his own room. The unusual situation made Aeleus see it with fresh eyes when he pushed open the door with one hand, Ienzo's head against his chest.

He'd never felt the need to decorate much, and so the room suddenly seemed stark in a way it never had before. A bed, a wardrobe, a chair, and a desk with shelves above...but no personal touches beyond his possessions, and even those few and far between, books on the shelves above the desk and a knitted blanket at the foot of the bed. Minimalism suited him—put him at ease, in its own way—but to greet a child he would have wished for something warmer.

Ienzo showed signs of life only when Aeleus set him down, gently, onto the messy bed. Usually it wouldn't have been so; Aeleus made it every morning, fitted corners tightly folded and the sheets smoothed flat. But last night he'd leaped to his feet and thrown the covers away without a thought, so that now Ienzo sat blinking in a tangle of sheets at the head of the bed, looking adrift in its vastness. Sitting upright was too much for him, though, and after a moment he leaned against the headboard for support, his temple resting against it. A few moments more, and he surrendered and curled up completely, pulling off his shoes with the last of his strength, his temple leaving a smear of grime on the pillowcase.

Aeleus crossed to the desk, trying to keep his footfalls light.

The shelves didn't hold much: a few plants, a few metal puzzles, a dozen dog-eared volumes of poetry. He chose one at random, as if this were any ordinary evening, and when he dimmed all but one light and settled himself into the chair in the corner, only the fact that he was still in his uniform proved this was not his usual routine. The lamp beside him threw just enough light across the room to put a glare on the windowpanes, so that when Aeleus glanced over at the half-cracked windows he couldn't see much of the night beyond, merely a hint of the sloping rooftop outside and a darkness above to indicate where there were stars.

His eyes skimmed the familiar stanzas without consciously reading them; he didn't really need to, as he knew most of them by heart. _ Workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove, late of a winter night... _ but it was a summer's night that wafted through the open window across the way, and behind his eyelids the poet's smoke-filled bar blurred into a smoke-filled house, the heat biting him and the smoke blinding him as he squinted against it, watching the corpses in the next room roast on the floor.

How many minutes would have been enough to make a difference, if he'd left the castle earlier? Five? Fifteen?

Even this high up the tower, the scent of the inner gardens still reached the room through the cracked windows, the fragrant blooms of the inner gardens commingling with the hot, dry smell of a summer that had gone on too long. At this hour there wasn't much noise, but once in a while some quirk of the wind carried a sound all the way up from the Old Town clearly, if faint—the peal of a bell or cry of a cat, sometimes a note that sounded like a human voice. Quieter than usual, perhaps, since the night was still young.

Aeleus didn't know how long he sat not-reading, resisting sleep when it called him like a friend. Twice he raised his head when his chin touched his chest, and both times he squared his shoulders and shifted position in the chair, finding his place in the book again, his tired mind blending the silent room with whatever images the page called forth, so that he could not be certain whether some sounds he heard came from away outside or from within his own head. He wasn't sure whether he fell asleep, either—certainly he tried not to—but at one point he came to himself as if out of a fog to find the book resting open in his lap, in danger of falling to the floor. He collected himself and looked across the room.

Ienzo was watching him. Trying to, at any rate; it seemed to take enormous effort to keep his eyes even half-open. When Aeleus met his gaze he squirmed, as if to bury himself deeper into the sheets and hide from whatever thoughts he was having, and Aeleus watched him struggle against exhaustion, his breathing deepening even as he fought to keep the darkness at bay. They stared at each other, the little boy stranded in the middle of a bed that was much too large, and the burly guardsman folded into a chair that was slightly too small.

“...You're safe here.”

There was no hesitant note in Aeleus's voice, pleading to be believed. He stated it simply, like a fact, because it was.

Ienzo raised his head off the pillow, blinking heavily, and Aeleus returned his attention to his book, flipping through it to find a poem he liked particularly well. As tempting as it was to glance over at the boy again, he forced himself not to do it, and so the impression he gave as he sat reading was one of total ease: unconcerned, but not callously, not as if he were ignoring the boy. It was, rather, an ease born naturally of strength, as though no power under the sun could frighten him.

For a long time, as before, the only sounds came through the half-open window, a breeze across the turrets carrying upward only the faintest echo of whatever noises came from the Old Town around the castle. Aeleus half-listened to it, and to the sounds in the room, as well: the gentle creaks and groans the castle always made but which were more noticeable at night, the wind humming through the turrets. In the rare moments between such sounds he thought he could hear Ienzo's breathing—a tiny sound, shallow and regular—and once or twice the sheets rustled.

When Aeleus next let himself look over, his eyes took a bit to adjust to the dimness on the far side of the room, and when they did he saw that Ienzo seemed asleep. Though he still lay curled on his side, his body had relaxed, the little fist that had been gripping the pillowcase now limp. Still, Aeleus had to watch him for several minutes before he let himself believe the boy was truly asleep. It was possible for exhaustion to bite so deep that not even nightmares had the power to form; with any luck, the boy had reached that point long ago.

Aeleus leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Sitting with his hands resting on his knees, silent and straight-backed and half-cast in shadow, he looked asleep and yet somehow alert—a gargoyle or golem or some other watchful thing carved of patient stone.


	3. The Second Day

Dawn woke Aeleus. Though he remained sitting upright, his head had lolled on his shoulder in his sleep, and when he straightened a crick made itself known in his neck. He rubbed it as he stood.

Ienzo was still asleep, judging by the sound of his breathing. Aeleus knew his own room well enough to navigate it in the dark, and when he returned from the bathroom in clean clothes he found the first hint of daylight peeking through the windows, a flush of color climbing up the castle walls to spill into the room, burnishing the brass knobs on the drawers of his desk. He did his best to be silent, but his stature had always made that difficult, and he feared he might wake the boy. When he neared the bed he stood over it, watching the small figure buried in the sheets.

Asleep—yes. There was no mistaking it. But the pillowcase was damp with tears.

When Aeleus left, he closed the door as quietly as he could behind him.

He was usually first to stir in the castle, discounting either Dilan or Braig if they'd had the second watch, in which case dawn would signal that they would soon be permitted to leave their post. Consequently Aeleus did not expect anyone to be downstairs when he arrived in the kitchenette, and was thus surprised to find Even rummaging through a cupboard, muttering to himself as usual.

Without asking, there was no way to know whether Even being awake at this hour meant he'd risen particularly early (the quicker to get started in the lab) or whether he'd never gone to sleep at all (having been up all night in the lab). However, one could usually hazard a guess based on his appearance and the amount of coffee he made himself. Today looked as if he were simply up early.

“Good morning, Aeleus.” Aeleus returned the greeting with a nod, and received in reply something unexpected: “His Lordship is already up. He wants everyone in the breakfast-room before the hour to go over the situation. I've already told Dilan and he said he'd get Braig.”

Even pulled a tin from the back of the cupboard—apparently the thing he'd been searching for, as he shook it to be sure it wasn't empty before striding out once more, his lab coat flapping. Despite the early hour, he was of course wearing it; there was a running joke among the guards that he probably slept with a lab coat over his pajamas, just in case.

Aeleus's intention had been to put together a tray of something for Ienzo, but if breakfast was already scheduled, there was no need. To make the trip worthwhile he stopped by the library, retrieving the book Ienzo had been reading the day before from where it still lay on the chaise, and when Aeleus returned to his room he found the boy already awake. Ienzo stood on the bed, leaning precariously over the empty space between the edge of the bed and the wall so that he could stare outside as best as he could, though his size meant that even while standing on the bed, his line of sight only just cleared the windowsill.

The sound of the door opening startled Ienzo, so that he nearly fell into the gap between the wall and bed. Aeleus halted, giving the boy a chance to compose himself before he strode into the room, and when he set the book on the bed Ienzo seemed to recognize it at once, his eyes widening. Up close, in the daylight, it was even more obvious how dirty and disheveled he was. A night's sleep had somehow only made him look even more neglected.

Aeleus said nothing, nor gave any indication that he'd had such a thought; he simply divided his attention between Ienzo (running his hand over the embossed front of the book) and the world outside the window that had captured the boy's interest. The sun had risen enough now that most of the red and orange in its light had burned away, except as a thick band on the horizon; the rest of the sky had already turned a bright, pale blue.

“Do you want to see out?”

Ienzo followed Aeleus's glance to the nearby window, and when he nodded, Aeleus picked him up and set him on the sill. It wasn't wide, but Ienzo was still small enough to sit on it without danger of falling. Together they gazed at Radiant Garden.

The castle stood on a hill, ringed by the inner gardens and wealthiest borough of the city, all enclosed by thick stone battlements that had marked the boundary of the entire town in its ancient past. But the wars of Radiant Garden's ancestors did not trouble them now, and the city had grown ever outward in all directions from its fortified heart. A gate at each point of the compass led through the battlements into the wide plane of outer gardens and fountains that lay between the castle town and the rest of the city, so that the castle and old town around it stood like an island in the center of everything else Radiant Garden had become.

Though the battlements rose high, the castle rose higher still, so that from its towers one could view all of the city in whatever direction one faced. Aeleus's windows looked due south, so as he and Ienzo gazed out together they saw mainly the tiled rooftops of the second ward, dominated by the spire of the university that jutted like the point of a spear, its white stone tinted gold by the morning sun. A glint of silver just beyond showed where the river bent on its way south again, having curved around behind the castle like a horseshoe. The island created by everything inside the battlements sat nestled deep inside the river's curve, built thus so that long ago, when it had mattered, the river had served as a natural line of defense, preventing any hostile force from easily approaching the castle except from the southwest.

It occurred to Aeleus that probably Ienzo had never seen anything like this. Radiant Garden lay mostly flat, save the hillock of the old town and castle, and so the view of the city offered from the height of the castle towers could be had nowhere else. Now that Aeleus thought on it, he remembered how this view had awed him at first, the whole of the city laid out before him in a shining panorama, aqueducts threading through it like strands of a spiderweb sparkling with dew. He had grown used to the sight over time, but appreciated it with fresh eyes as he stood beside Ienzo, half-watching the little boy take it all in as he sat on the sill beside him.

In happier circumstances Aeleus might have pointed out interesting landmarks as a matter of courtesy, but there was no forgetting why the boy was here; a thread of smoke coiled in the distance like the last gasp of a campfire, hovering over the furthest reaches of the city. Aeleus let go of the sill, still watching Ienzo's eyes pass back and forth over the whole city, and though he tried he could not read the boy's muted expression. He waited a long time to speak.

“Lord Ansem will be eating breakfast downstairs soon.”

Ienzo looked up at him. Aeleus was still taller, even with the boy sitting on the windowsill.

“You're welcome to join us.”

It wasn't as if he had much choice, really, but an invitation at least sounded pleasant. Ienzo looked out over the city again, then back at Aeleus, and after a bit Aeleus picked him up and set him on the bed, which he'd seemed to have wanted. The boy sat on the edge of it, his feet dangling.

“Would you like to come?”

Ienzo fidgeted, then reached out and pulled the library book into his lap, gazing up at Aeleus as though asking whether he would be allowed to bring it. Aeleus nodded to show that he was.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The breakfast-room wasn't really such. In the official schematic of the castle it had been a study at one point, and overflowing bookshelves still covered the wall opposite the enormous windows, some of the volumes' spines so faded by sunlight that they could hardly be read. The claw-footed dining table didn't fit the proportions of the room, either, perhaps because they had never bothered to put a rug underneath to anchor it. Instead the table simply floated in the middle of the room like an oval island, swallowed up by the rest of the space. This morning the heavy curtains had been drawn back so that light flooded the room, almost too much of it, winking off of the silverware and china embossed with the royal insignia of the castle.

When Aeleus at last arrived with Ienzo, they found breakfast well under way: Ansem and Even and Dilan and Braig all seated at the table, Ansem at the head of it and Even and Dilan on either side, Braig sitting a little ways apart at the other end, opposite Ansem. At Aeleus and Ienzo's entrance everyone but Ansem glanced up, and Aeleus felt Ienzo edge over a few inches, half-shielding himself behind Aeleus's leg.

“So this is the boy, I take it?” Even said, raising an eyebrow; he was the only one who hadn't seen him yet.

“Yeah, that's him.” Braig grinned. “How ya doin', squirt?”

Ienzo followed Aeleus closely when the latter approached the table, and it wasn't until Aeleus had pulled out the chair next to Dilan that he realized it was the only spare seat; there was nowhere for the boy. He paused, contemplating this problem, while Dilan appraised Ienzo with his usual frown. Though seated, Dilan was tall enough that the top of Ienzo's head only just reached his elbow.

“Still here, are you?”

Ienzo shifted, clutching his book. Dilan eyed him, then reached over the table and plucked a warm crepe from a stack on a silver platter, smearing jam inside it before folding it into a triangle and handing it over with only the slightest softening of his stern expression. Apparently last night's soup had earned him Ienzo's trust. The boy accepted the offering at once, and when he took a bite of the folded crepe, a dollop of jam oozed out of the corner. By the time Ienzo finished it, Dilan had put a small plate together with another crepe and a few pieces of fruit. Ienzo accepted this too, setting the plate carefully on top of his book.

The chair problem that Aeleus had been contemplating resolved itself: as soon as he had his food, Ienzo left the table, making for a highbacked reading chair forgotten in the corner of the room, left against the wall because it was too tall to be of use at the table. With some difficulty he scrambled into it, being careful not to spill his food, and Braig stifled a laugh as he conquered it at last and set about his breakfast, balancing the book in his lap.

“Mmph...Weird kid,” Braig remarked.

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” Dilan growled, pouring himself more coffee. Aeleus took a seat and helped himself.

The meal passed in relative silence; after the long, draining day before, no one seemed in the mood for the idle banter that might otherwise be expected over an impromptu breakfast. Though (Aeleus thought, watching Even pour an ungodly amount of honey onto his crepes), it was unusual for Ansem and his apprentices to all dine together in the first place. Their daily routines differed too much for that to be practical, and even if all four apprentices somehow happened to be free and hungry at the same time, Ansem rarely pulled himself away from either his personal studies or royal duties for a meal—and if he did, then never for one so informal as breakfast. For all five of them to thus find themselves eating together first thing in the morning was one more blow the fire had dealt to normal life in Radiant Garden, albeit an oddly unobjectionable one.

As he ate, Aeleus periodically leaned forward to peer around Dilan at the far corner where Ienzo sat in shadow. He might as well have been a shadow himself; the only indication he was there was a single gentle clunk when he set his empty plate aside, and at once he cracked open his enormous book and buried himself in it. Aeleus wasn't sure whether this was a good sign or not, but the fact that he'd eaten readily was at least heartening.

Braig finished eating long before the others. He sat slouched with his elbows on the tablecloth, working a toothpick through his teeth, and returned Dilan's disapproving look with a cheeky grin that made Dilan roll his eyes. Aeleus contributed nothing to the eventual conversation, which picked up as the others sated themselves one by one; Ansem took the longest to finish, obviously hungry but still picking over his food slowly, distracted by his own heavy thoughts. When he pushed his plate away at long last, it served as a signal. His four apprentices all looked to him as one.

“What is your itinerary today, Your Lordship?” Dilan asked, as Ansem set his napkin on the table.

Ansem poured himself a final cup of tea, draining the pot to the dregs before setting it back onto the tablecloth.

“I'd like to visit the victims,” he said at last. “As many as I'm able. If the injured are mostly in the hospitals then I'll go there first, and make rounds through the residential areas afterward. And I suppose it might be necessary to visit the morgue, as well.”

“Are we to take it you'll spend the day in the fourth ward, then?”

“The fourth ward, the hospitals, perhaps the chapel...” Ansem frowned at his tea. “Wherever my presence might provide some reassurance. I cannot remain shut away in the castle at a time like this; I must be out and about as much as possible. The people must know I am concerned, and available.”

No one contested this. Ansem nursed his teacup with both hands as his brows knit in thought, and finally he stifled a sigh and set one elbow on his chair's carved armrest, the better to rest his temple against his knuckles, frowning. The morning sunlight that fell across his face revealed how tired he still looked; whatever sleep he'd gotten hadn't been wholesome.

“Your Lordship mustn't stretch yourself too thin,” Dilan remarked. Ansem looked to him, grimaced, and took a long drink of tea.

“I appreciate your concern, Dilan, but the situation calls for it.” He looked across the table. “Braig?”

Braig started and flicked his toothpick away. It landed on Even's plate, making him pull a face.

“Sir?”

“I will need a number of errands run today. Can you spare yourself?”

“Of course.” He pantomimed touching the brim of a cap, though he wasn't wearing one. “You can count on me, sir.”

Ansem sighed, his gaze drifting upward as if to study the ceiling pattern as he set his teacup down; it was obvious he was still thinking through what needed to be done. No one interrupted him, and after a minute, he readjusted himself in his seat, wadding his napkin and putting it on the table with an air of finality.

“It must be done,” he said, as if to himself. “There's simply no other way.”

Abruptly, Ansem stood. His four apprentices did the same, and though Ansem signaled that they could sit again, no one did. Aeleus glanced to the corner of the room, and found that Ienzo had not looked up from his book, though Aeleus got the impression that he was paying attention to them nonetheless.

“I must make an official statement,” Ansem muttered to himself. “The papers...Tomorrow, tomorrow. But it should have been today.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, wincing at the magnitude of this oversight. “I will prepare it when I have time...Braig.”

“Sir?”

“Run into town, to the offices of the _Gazette_ and the _Cry_. Ask the latest hour that a statement from the castle could be delivered for print in tomorrow morning's issues. I don't imagine I'll have time to write it before tonight, but if there is a deadline, I could perhaps cut some of my visitations today short. Only if I absolutely must...” He gestured. “Go ahead of me. If I'm not here when you return, meet me at the third ward's hospital.”

Braig saluted and disappeared into thin air, the space where he had been rippling in his wake; a moment later they heard him hurrying down the hall outside. Ansem brushed crumbs off the front of his coat, then looked to the other three.

“Even, I must ask a favor.”

Even squared his shoulders. “Certainly, Your Lordship.”

“The boy—” he glanced to the far corner where Ienzo still sat reading, “—the one left unclaimed...We can't simply turn him out onto the street.”

“Well, naturally...”

“So until his next of kin are found today, I think it best for him to remain here in the castle. I am putting him in your care for the time being.”

Even's long face crumpled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, briefly.

“Your Lordship, may I be so bold as to point out that my current experiment—”

“Even, please.” Ansem cut him off at once, if gently. “You must realize your schedule is much more accommodating than the guards' at the moment. It can't be helped.”

Even's voice trailed off so low that his grumbling could not be distinguished, except for a very faint, sour sort of something that might have been _but my experiment_. Still, he collected himself and swept across the room, and Ansem turned back to the two guards.

“Aeleus, Dilan—I'll need you both to assist me today as well. There is much to do in town.”

“Should no one keep the castle, Your Lordship?” asked Dilan at once. “We're to leave it unmanned?”

“Oh, I think there's no great harm in a few hours' lapse in routine,” said Ansem. “And in any case, Even will be here all day.”

Dilan bit back a reply, looking thoroughly un-reassured. He glanced to where Even stood over the seated Ienzo, towering over him like a disapproving scarecrow. The lanky scientist folded his arms.

“Well, come along then, child.”

Ienzo obeyed, if hesitantly; Even frowned as the boy closed his book and slid off the chair.

“Heaven knows what in the world I'm to do with you...”

He turned to leave, his lab coat swishing, then took a few steps and glanced back, still frowning, waiting for Ienzo to follow. At last the boy did, and Even strode off again—a little too quickly, as if trying to shake him off—muttering all the while. Ansem and the two guards watched them go.

“What a pity,” Ansem sighed.

Dilan looked ready to offer a comment, but held it back, though he exchanged a look with Aeleus that said plenty. If Ansem noticed, he made no mention of it, instead adjusting the red scarf tied around his shoulders.

“The pair of you—” he began; Aeleus and Dilan squared their shoulders as one, “—head down to the site of the fire. If any assistance is needed there, give it, and pay my errands no mind. Otherwise, meet me at the hospital. In either case I'd like a report on the state of things at the end of the day.”

Dilan and Aeleus bowed their heads in unison, a reflexive response to the order; Ansem sighed heavily, his mind already elsewhere.

“This is a terrible tragedy.” He sighed again, smoothing the front of his coat. “But I must remind myself that it could have been a great deal worse.”

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The fire had leveled an entire street and damaged two more, and even this long afterward, its effects continued to create new problems that complicated the cleanup efforts. Sometime in the early morning an above-ground water main, its riveting weakened by the intense heat, had sprung a leak and flooded part of one of the half-burned streets, and this in turn had worsened the damage to an electrical station at the end of the block that received energy from the enormous reactor up near the castle. Thus Aeleus and Dilan found upon arriving that a swathe of the fourth ward and a few places in the third had been without power for several hours, and the engineers and city watchmen already tackling the problem appreciated the arrival of official supervision and assistance.

Though the Royal Guard had de facto authority over all other authorities in the city, that wasn't a power they usually needed to exercise; Radiant Garden's tranquility meant that the men who protected the castle almost never had to act in any capacity other than Ansem's bodyguards. It was rare for them to give orders to others, and rare too for them to venture this far out into the city to begin with. Most of the locals who saw them were visibly intrigued by Dilan and Aeleus's uniforms as the two men stood on a pile of rubble that elevated them enough to survey the area at hand, taking a moment's respite from the work.

“A fine sight this is,” Dilan grumbled, leaning on his lance and scowling at an empty aqueduct, its pristine marble smeared with an oily mixture of soot and debris. Aeleus said nothing, but they exchanged a look, and as usual that was enough.

A fine sight indeed: even those buildings that had survived the blaze looked warped and sagged. Stone and brick had withstood the heat, but the mortar binding them together had in many cases melted, making walls weaken and buckle, so that a few buildings that had survived the night of the fire had by now partially caved in. Between this, the flooding, and the general filth, the area looked even worse than what might be expected—more like a war-zone. If there was anything to be thankful for, Aeleus thought, it was that the damage had been intense but contained.

Though the ruins no longer smoked heavily, the stench of it still wafted up in invisible coils that sometimes choked them without warning, and whenever Aeleus and Dilan passed near the ruined streets they found that residual heat still emanated from the dirty rubble, except in those places where water had flooded the street. As the wreckage was thus unsafe to be digging through, they had to re-establish perimeters to ensure that people who came to sift for what might remain of their belongings were kept away; such activities wouldn't be possible until the next day at the earliest. Every so often, too, Braig stopped by on his way to and fro across town, relaying news and orders from Ansem, whose visitations seemed to be going apace.

“What a mess, eh?” Braig scratched his cheek as his gaze passed over one of the half-flooded streets. Despite the situation, he had all his usual energy, and his grin was no less wide than normal as he rocked on the balls of his feet. “Man. They're gonna be moppin' this up for weeks.”

The scope of the work kept them occupied enough that Aeleus had little time to think of other things, but when he did he never failed to wonder about the fate of the boy left up at the castle. He'd be gone by the time they got back, of course—whisked away by whatever relative finally came to fetch him—and Aeleus could only hope the experience had not damaged him irreparably, and that Even had kept an eye on him in the meanwhile.

As it happened, however, Aeleus was given the opportunity to check this for himself. In the early afternoon he found himself headed back up to the Old Town to oversee adjustments at the central reactor near the castle, and once the work was under way he made the unusual decision to run an errand of his own before returning to the job at hand, heading up the winding stone pathway that rambled through the inner gardens before leading him up to the castle.

His search inside took less time than he'd feared it might. Halfway down the lower east hallway, he met Even coming the other way, leafing through a stack of handwritten notes. He was alone.

Though Aeleus said nothing, and assumed his presence would be enough to attract Even's attention at once, this was too optimistic. The scientist was so engrossed in his papers that he had to pass through Aeleus's large shadow before noticing him.

“Aeleus.” Even halted, turning back to face him. “Has His Lordship returned, then?”

“Not yet, no. He's still busy in town.”

Even made a displeased noise.

“No? Well, I suppose this will have to wait even longer, then.” He shuffled through his papers, pulling one out and setting it on top to scan it quickly. “Really, though, the results are unusual...If I had his opinion I could be working on the next stage already...”

He kept talking to himself as he thought aloud, though in a low voice, so that only a word or two was audible. Aeleus realized the answer to his own unasked question was not forthcoming.

“Even, where is Ienzo?”

“Mm?” Even seemed to have to dig into his mind to find this subject, as if he'd put it on the back burner and kept it there all day. “The boy? Still in the library, I expect. I left him there earlier.”

“Earlier?” (Was 'earlier' five minutes or five hours ago?)

Even feigned indifference, rifling through his notes, but looked up again almost at once.

“Aeleus, you know full well I can't interrupt the final stage of an experiment to babysit. If I'd let the batch incubate through tomorrow, I'd have had to throw out my entire data set and start over. Three weeks of work, gone for no reason? I think not.”

“His Lordship asked you to keep Ienzo with you all day.”

“He was not nearly that specific,” said Even at once. “Besides, I've kept the child out of trouble, I think that's quite enough.”

“You don't know where he is.”

“He's in the library,” Even insisted. “And really, what mischief could he possibly get into there?”

Aeleus tried not to think about any of the heavy bookshelves toppling over. Instead he said, “Have any relatives come for him?”

“Well, what do you think? He's still here, isn't he?”

Aeleus did not reply; Even, however, could only meet his gaze for a second before glancing away, scowling.

“You're in no position to lecture me, Aeleus.” He folded his arms, his stack of papers rustling. “I'm not trying to be irresponsible, but my research comes first. I'm sorry for the child's situation, but...”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Pardon?”

“Tonight. If his family doesn't pick him up, what are you going to do with him?”

“Tonight?” Even uncrossed his arms, exasperated by this new complication. “I hadn't even thought of that. Where did the boy sleep last night?”

“In my room.”

“Hm. Well, we'll have to fix him up a room of his own for a day or two, assuming it comes to that. He's certainly not staying with me.” He shuffled his papers more forcefully for emphasis. “I suppose we should clean out one of the rooms in the south tower this evening, if the worst happens.”

Aeleus nodded, then ventured, “Even...You ought to be keeping an eye on the boy. He can't wander the castle alone.”

“He's not _wandering_. He's right where I left him.”

Aeleus said nothing.

“In all likelihood, at any rate.”

Still Aeleus said nothing. At last Even half-threw up his hands, his papers rustling.

“If you insist,” he said—indignantly, as though Aeleus had been arguing with him. “I'm at a convenient stopping point in any case.”

“If it's too much trouble—”

“No, no, I'll go get him. Since you evidently believe I'm not taking this seriously...”

He stomped away, grumbling, and Aeleus watched him go before turning away and making for the foyer.

Aeleus couldn't have been called worried—it took a great deal to unnerve him even slightly—but an odd feeling hung over him nonetheless as he made his way out of the castle and down into the grounds, following the paved stone walkway that wound towards the outer gardens. A feeling of uneasiness, perhaps. Which was understandable, given the whole situation.

Still, he was probably concerned over nothing, he thought, pulling the south gate closed behind him. The boy would be fine. Sooner or later, someone would come.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

If the damage didn't look much better by the late afternoon, it was a cosmetic issue only; they'd managed to do plenty to improve the situation, including sealing up the cracked water line and getting power back to the majority of the fourth ward. The latter had been accomplished with some difficulty, and Aeleus had spent a couple of hours coordinating the process of getting enough energy rerouted through two different conduit stations elsewhere in town to take up the missing station's job without overloading the grid. Lord Ansem himself turned up eventually to assess the progress on this. Though one of his predecessors had invented the energy system, Ansem had improved on it greatly, and knew its workings as well as the station foreman.

“A haphazard fix,” he admitted, “but it will do for the time being. When we return to the castle I'll have to see what can be done within the mainframe to improve outflow efficiency and diffuse the load. That may lessen the strain on these particular stations.”

Aeleus gave only occasional thought to his earlier foreboding, but when Ansem and his trio of weary guardsmen returned to the castle in the early evening, Aeleus found his concern had been justified. Even met them all in the lower foyer, Ienzo standing off to the side, half in shadow.

“No, Your Lordship, no one at all. There were a few visitors, but they all inquired into other things.”

“Is that so?” Ansem looked unsettled, and gave Ienzo a puzzled frown before shaking his head. “Well...We'll do what we must. I suppose, for the time being...”

He swept past, muttering to himself, leaving Even looking rather miffed in his wake. Dilan exchanged a look with Aeleus before folding his arms; they both watched the scientist hurry forward to catch up to Ansem, the latter already engrossed in thought.

“...monitor the grid, make adjustments...It may be best to write a new piece of code entirely, just for the present situation...”

“Your Lordship,” Even tried, “I think, surely, given the circumstances...It's really best if the boy is taken into town.”

“Taken where?” Ansem asked, and the question was neither malicious nor rhetorical; Even halted in his tracks, having no ready answer. Radiant Garden's woes were so few that the city had no orphanage.

“Well, Your Lordship, that is to say...I had simply thought—”

“Even.” Ansem sighed. “I understand this is perhaps inconvenient, but we must all do our part. Please continue doing as I've asked.”

Though Even did not argue as Ansem set off once more, he pursed his lips so thin they turned white. Dilan and Braig followed in Ansem's wake, but Aeleus hung back, catching Even's eye.

“...Are you busy, Aeleus?” Even asked him, in a rather clipped tone. “Because it seems the boy's staying on for the evening. He'll need a room of some sort after all. Unless we're fortunate enough to have him retrieved before dinner...”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aeleus saw Ienzo shift.

“Would you mind setting somewhere up for him?” Even continued, making a stiff gesture with one arm. His irritation was palpable. “I'll bring him around when I'm finished with my work. Sooner, if I can manage it.”

Aeleus didn't reply; he simply headed across the foyer towards the towers, setting aside thoughts of all the other tasks he had planned to set himself. If he didn't do this, he knew, it wouldn't get done at all.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The favor took longer than Aeleus had anticipated, as he wound up having to scour the whole castle for a bedframe that wouldn't be comically too large for a child. Once that was done he brought in a few of his own things to make ends meet, and in an hour he had turned one of the empty rooms at the end of the south tower into something almost like a bedroom. Sparse, to be sure, with only a freshly-made bed and a nightstand, but at least clean and habitable. It wasn't much, Aeleus supposed—he knelt to more easily smooth down the blanket folded at the foot of the bed—but it didn't have to be. After all, it only had to do for one night. Two, at the most, if the situation was particularly difficult to sort out.

“Finished, are you?”

Aeleus looked over his shoulder to find Even standing in the doorway with crossed arms, Ienzo behind him, and still carrying his book from the morning.

“Well, it will suffice.” To Ienzo, he said, “You should stay here for the time being, boy; this room is yours until you leave. We can't have you camping in the library, after all.”

Somehow Aeleus had a feeling that the boy wouldn't have minded that arrangement. Still, Even ushered Ienzo into the room before pivoting on his heel and disappearing without a goodbye, the rapid clip of his boots against echoing down the hallway outside.

Aeleus rose, dusting off the knees of his dirty uniform, watching Ienzo take a few steps further into the room. The boy studied his new surroundings, his steady gaze passing over every inch of the space, even the rough stone ceiling, the too-large book still clutched firmly against his chest. Aeleus couldn't know what he was feeling, but had a guess he might be intimidated, regardless of his mute expression; the room, though smaller than the others on this hall, was still far too large for a child his size. All the rooms in the south tower had once been barracks, quartering guardsmen in pairs, and so while they were spaciously comfortable for a single adult, the small boy now looked lost in this room's emptiness, as though exploring a cavern. After taking the room in, the boy carefully slid his book onto the nightstand, beside the lone lamp.

Aeleus felt he ought to say something, but didn't; somehow he thought _make yourself at home_ would be cruel. After a bit, he settled on an alternative.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

The boy flinched at the sudden violation of the silence. Not strongly, but enough to show he'd been startled, though he composed himself at once, scrambling up to sit on the bed beside his book. It was odd to watch, Aeleus realized. He hadn't let himself reflect on it until now, but the boy's behavior was consistently unchildlike. Had he been this way before, with his parents? Reserved and unsmiling, utterly silent? Or was this some sort of reaction to the horror he'd just endured? There was no way of knowing, at least not until he was picked up from the castle by a relative.

Aeleus had the thought of leaving, but somehow he couldn't make himself, not right away; it would feel like abandoning the boy, dumping him off in some out-of-the-way room so that he wouldn't further inconvenience the goings-on at the castle. That was the last impression Aeleus wanted to give. So he spared the late afternoon outside the windows a glance before gathering up the things he'd brought to help him tidy the room (a broom, a damp cloth, things of that sort) and set them on the floor by the nightstand.

“May I sit?”

Ienzo had not lost himself in his book yet, and so when Aeleus asked the question the boy stared back keenly in response. His gaze had an unusual intensity that Aeleus hadn't really focused on before, but he let himself now, and couldn't dismiss the impression that, for all Ienzo's uncanny silence, a world of words swirled behind his steady gaze, kept locked there for safekeeping. An odd thought—too poetic, maybe. But in any case, Aeleus sensed his silence was a choice.

At last Ienzo nodded, and Aeleus sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, still studying the young boy with patient curiosity. Ienzo looked more presentable than he had that morning, though Aeleus wasn't sure exactly what Even had done. The boy and his once-sooty clothes seemed clean, at least, but there were still several rips and a burn hole in his shirt, and this close Aeleus noticed he had an unpleasantly chemical smell about him, like a hospital room, or the castle labs after a sterilization session. As he sat at the foot of the bed he fiddled with the burn hole in his shirt, picking at it like a scab. Aeleus did not speak until Ienzo finally looked up.

“Would you like me to fix that?”

Again the boy rubbed his thumb around the fraying edge of the burn hole at the bottom of his shirt, then squeezed it for a long moment, thinking. Then he carefully pulled the shirt off and wrapped himself in the gray wool blanket folded at the foot of the bed.

Aeleus had brought a sewing kit in case any of the linens he scrounged up for Ienzo's room needed mending; Ienzo watched him thread a needle and set to work, laying the damaged shirt flat against his knee. Aeleus said nothing. He was hardly one to speak just to make conversation, and in any case he suspected that after spending half the day with Even (who was forever making a fuss, unless he was deep in thought), the quiet boy might appreciate some silence.

This seemed to be true. Though Aeleus did not glance over, focused as he was on sewing, the impression he got out of the corner of his eye was that Ienzo relaxed as the minutes went by, settling into the itchy wool blanket like a cocoon, watching Aeleus methodically repair his shirt. Aeleus had done enough mending in his life to have a steady hand at it, and though his stitches were perhaps larger than average, they were tight enough to hardly be seen when he finished each one, cutting the thread on his teeth and cinching the final knot. When at last he turned the shirt right-side out again and inspected it, only the coin-sized burn hole continued to make itself obvious. Aeleus smoothed the shirt out against his knee.

“Here.”

He laid it on the bed beside him, and Ienzo hesitated before wriggling out of the blanket and pulling the shirt on, then immediately wrapping himself in the blanket once more, like a cloak, pressing the wool into his face. Aeleus had the thought that perhaps he liked the musty scent of it better than the antiseptic stench his own clothes had acquired.

“You won't have to stay here long. Someone will come.”

The boy raised his head and looked Aeleus straight in the eye, his gaze unblinking. Aeleus couldn't see his mouth, shielded as he was by the folds of the blanket, but something about his gaze made Aeleus sure he was frowning.

_There's no one else,_ he'd told Ansem the night before. But of course that wasn't true. How could it be?

Silence. Neither of them tried to fill it, and after a bit, Ienzo freed himself from the blanket at last, leaving it pooled around him. Aeleus followed his line of sight, then reached over and picked up the book lying on the nightstand, handing it to the boy as if it had been requested. Ienzo accepted the tome with both hands, but it was heavy enough for him that he nearly dropped it nonetheless, its pages falling open with a gentle thunk as its spine hit the bedspread. Aeleus watched him slowly turn the pages, looking for his place.

“His Lordship is busy, so we won't be eating together like we did this morning.”

Ienzo looked up from the book.

“Whenever you want dinner, go downstairs. Anyone who is available will feed you. Or I can bring you something, if you like.”

The boy blinked up at him, his mouth twitching, as if he wanted to frown and wasn't sure whether he ought. Aeleus stood up from the edge of the bed, and Ienzo's eyes followed him as he crossed the empty room, saying nothing more. A part of him wanted to stay and keep him company a while longer, but Aeleus had other things to attend to—and more importantly, he had a suspicion that the boy wouldn't dislike being finally left alone.

He thought he could feel the boy's gaze on him as he reached the doorway, but when he took a final glance backward, Ienzo was reading.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

Aeleus had wanted to spend the evening catching his breath and seeing to the various small duties that had gone unattended in the wake of the fire, or at the very least, giving his dirty uniform a much-needed wash; he never had the opportunity. When news arrived at the castle of more problems down at the reactor, Ansem dispatched Aeleus and Braig to deal with it, and by the time the pair of them returned, night had more than fallen, a sea of stars glittering in the inky sky above the castle as they approached it from the inner gardens. Braig trotted alongside Aeleus, his white teeth flashing in the dark as he chattered, once in awhile laughing at his own joke and giving Aeleus a jovial blow on the upper arm (not being tall enough to reach Aeleus's shoulder). None of it irritated Aeleus; Braig was Braig, after all. One either accepted it or one didn't.

“...is all I'm sayin',” Braig finished. He adjusted at the tatty red scarf around his neck. “But maybe that'll be the last we hear about it.”

The pair of them reached the east gate at last, at the top of the sloping stairs. Aeleus pushed through at once, but Braig hung back, humming to himself, and when Aeleus gave him a look, he waved a gloved hand.

“Go on ahead, dude, I got first watch.”

Braig unlocked one of the side gates and headed down the worn stone stairways that led to another part of the inner gardens, still humming, taking the steps two at a time. After watching him go, Aeleus continued on, his stride as even as if he'd never broken it. He knew the grounds so well that even though the moon was weak, and the lamplight outside the castle entrance did not reach him until he neared the top of the stairs, he never stumbled once.

The castle seemed silent and empty when Aeleus entered the east foyer, but that was always the case; Ansem and his four apprentices were its only inhabitants, after all. The fortress was far too massive for the mere handful of them, its size and strength a relic of an older time, so long ago that the kings who had built it and reigned it from it had all but passed into legend. But if the place that had bloomed into Radiant Garden had been grander in those ancient days, it had been darker, too, and as Aeleus walked the dim and silent corridor he felt the shadow of all the other men in uniform who had done the same, long ago, when fire in the city had been the least of many perils they had been called to face.

As so often happened, he smelled the kitchenette before he reached it, and found Dilan frowning over the stove, at this hour no doubt making something to freeze for the busy days ahead. The only greeting they needed was an exchange of nods, and Dilan returned his attention to the stove, tasting and then seasoning whatever was bubbling there under his watchful eye as Aeleus fed himself out of the icebox. A handful of dishes stood soaking in the sink, and when Aeleus finished eating, he dealt with them, neither asking whose they were nor even wondering it, his mind on other things as he rinsed each plate and set it to dry on the counter. It was something that needed doing, so he did it. That was all.

Dilan seemed to finish with whatever he was cooking at the same time Aeleus finished the dishes; he surveyed the stovetop with rare satisfaction before turning off the heat and tapping the wooden spoon against the rim of the pan. Aeleus looked to him, drying his hands on a dishrag.

“Has His Lordship been down?”

Though Aeleus's question was the first thing that had been spoken since he'd entered the kitchen, it did not startle Dilan in the slightest; he answered at once, as if they had been conversing freely this whole time.

“Not that I've seen, no.” He scraped the inside of the pan clean, adding, “Our young guest has eaten dinner, though. I made certain of that.”

Dilan glanced to Aeleus as he said this, and snorted in reply to his expression.

“I didn't trust Even to see to it,” he admitted. “The man forgets to feed even himself sometimes.”

True enough—but Aeleus also knew Dilan would have taken the dishonor personally if the boy felt hunger under the royal castle's roof.

“You've second watch, haven't you?” Dilan continued. “Why aren't you abed?”

“I should report to His Lordship first. Where is he?”

“I couldn't say.” Dilan rolled down his sleeves. “But I'd wager either the computer lab or his study. He's hardly left either since we came in from town.”

In fact these two places were the safest bet for locating Ansem even if there wasn't an emergency going on, and when Aeleus left the kitchenette his feet took him the shortest route up without needing to think on it. He met no one on the way, though when he reached the dim landing at the top of the last staircase he had an impression of a voice—low and indistinct, echoing from another hallway nearby. Anyone who didn't live in the castle would have thought the disembodied muttering unnerving, perhaps the sound of a ghost; Aeleus knew better. It was only Even, talking to himself in some nearby hallway as he bustled to and from the lab.

This part of the castle had been heavily remodeled in the last century, and in contrast to the stone corridor he'd started from near the kitchenette, everything up here was metal and plaster, the walls a burnished orange that somehow felt institutional in the cold light that came from the electric lamps in wall sconces, hanging at regular intervals beneath endless reams of exposed copper pipes. The lamps lit themselves one by one as Aeleus passed, magically sensing his presence, and extinguished themselves once he'd left them far enough behind, so that as he approached Ansem's study Aeleus's moving form seemed to carry the light with him down the long, empty hall, the glow reflecting off the dual blue tones of the floor as the lamps blinked in and out. When he reached the end of the corridor and made the last turn onto the main hall that led to the study, the new row of lamps (older, unenchanted) did not light for him, so that he approached the door in darkness.

Neither the first knock nor the second produced any response, and Aeleus thought perhaps the master was not there. Still, it was worth checking, and after a bit he tried the door and found it unlocked, peering into the round room ringed with low bookshelves, its walls the same burnished orange as the hallway outside.

It took Aeleus a moment to realize that Ansem had fallen asleep at his desk. With one elbow on the table and his forehead pressed to the side of his fist, he might have been thinking deeply had he not been so still, and his breathing so steady. Beneath his elbow lay scattered papers covered in his strong, clear handwriting, phrases written and crossed out and written again, and a memo with the royal letterhead set off to the side seemed to contain the beginnings of the final draft of his work. Neither Aeleus's knock nor the sound of the door opening had woken him, and Aeleus had to rap his knuckles firmly on the doorjamb to make him stir at last.

“Aeleus.” Ansem blinked and rubbed his neck, sitting up straighter. “Pardon me. I must have dozed off.”

“I'm sorry for disturbing you, Your Lordship.”

“No, it's all right. I shouldn't have slept.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rouse himself. “Heavens. What hour is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

Ansem confirmed this by his pocketwatch, then stifled a sigh and set the silver instrument aside on the desk, rubbing his face with both hands.

“That won't do...I only have until midnight before the papers go to print. I must finish this at once.”

“I can deliver it when you're ready, Your Lordship.”

“No, no.” He looked up, waving one hand. “Braig will manage it, he's quickest. I'll summon him when I'm finished. Though I suspect that may be another hour at least.”

Ansem reached across the desk and pulled the half-blank memo close, scanning it with just enough of a frown to show he wasn't fully satisfied with even these few lines. After a moment, he looked up again.

“Did you have something to report, Aeleus?”

“Only that Braig and I have seen to the reactor, Your Lordship. It's working properly now.”

“Is it? Good. Thank you both.” Ansem tapped his pen against the desk, musing tiredly. “Though I ought to keep an eye on the readings overnight, just to be certain...I'll request the computer to collect the necessary data.”

Aeleus nodded and made as if to dismiss himself, but Ansem, seeing this, raised a hand.

“Stay a moment, Aeleus.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing, his mind still clouded with sleep. “Has anything more happened of which I need to be aware?”

“Not to my knowledge, Your Lordship.”

“We've had no incident reports from the city? There are no complications in the fourth ward?”

“None, sir.”

Ansem sighed. The act seemed to deflate him, making him small against the high back of his thronelike chair, and the angle of the light coming down from the lamp sconces accentuated the shadows that had developed under his eyes overnight.

“Well. No news is good news, as they say. Though I have trouble believing it, at a time like this.”

Aeleus waited for more orders, but none came; Ansem pressed his knuckles to his forehead and winced, trying to dispel his own exhaustion, before sorting the papers that had gone astray all around him. He said nothing, and Aeleus, not having been dismissed, did not leave.

Though Ansem refused a proper title and made every effort not to look the part of a ruler, it was his function nonetheless, and on occasions like this it fell to him to give what words of comfort and wisdom he could to his people. Still, Aeleus had learned since coming to the castle that it was not in Ansem's nature, not wholly. He was a philosopher first and a governor second, and if he was benevolent and beloved it came with a burden few could have born the weight of without staggering. That weight showed heavy on him now, bending his shoulders as he sat at his desk surrounded by papers, trying to give voice to his people's suffering.

“...How could I have let this happen?”

Aeleus did not respond, nor did Ansem seem to expect him to; he kept talking, as if to himself.

“It was an accident, yes, but something could have been done. A fire like this should have been anticipated with the weather we've had this year. These past few months have been so unusually hot...The trouble we've had with the aqueducts running low...Do you recall? All the work to get the fountains looking up to par for the summer festival. And even then...”  Ansem frowned deeply and pressed the side of his fist to his mouth, speaking into it, so that his voice was muffled. “I should have done something, planned something. Issued notices at the very least...”

“Hindsight is clearest, Your Lordship. Blaming yourself now will help no one.”

Ansem gave him a piercing look, frowning harder behind his fist, then let his hand fall.

“You may be right, Aeleus. And yet...”

His hand went to the knitted red scarf tied loosely around his shoulders, pushing it out of his way so that he could set pen to paper without it obstructing him. But after a line or two, he stopped writing, and the sigh he heaved next came through his nose, not defeated but heavy, burdened with ill thoughts.

It was strange to see him like this. Aeleus could not remember the master being this worried at any point since he'd come to the castle, and the pained frown he bore revealed lines on his brow and in the corners of his mouth that Aeleus had never seen—though their depth revealed that they had been cut there long ago, even if his usual smile did not show them. Though not yet an old man, Ansem had ruled for many years, and had, perhaps, seen things worse even than this, in the travels Aeleus had heard he'd made before he took the reins of the city.

And yet, for all this—for all his concern—there was something not fully royal about him, not given over utterly to the business of governance. His heart's joy lay in the pursuit of knowledge, and the thrill of curiosity, and the building of wisdom brick-by-brick through experience and experiments. Whereas a king of old might have unwound from his duties by removing himself to the countryside, or applying himself to the arts, Ansem the Wise wrote computer code. Curiosity was his basic nature, not governorship, and the kind of responsibility pressing on him now only made the fact of that more clear.

“...How I wish I could only see my people smile!”

Ansem did not look up as he said this. Again he seemed to be talking more to himself than to his guardsman.

“But that is impossible, isn't it? No matter what I do, no matter how vigilant I am...there will always be grief and pain in the world. Darkness always finds a way.”

“The brightest light casts the blackest shadow,” Aeleus said. Ansem glanced up, and his look showed he recognized the classical poem the line came from, and was thinking through the rest of it.

“In the twilight thus born, and through night doomed to pass,” he finished, quoting the last line. “Perhaps so. But I can't help that sometimes the thought unsettles me.” He reached up and scratched one eyebrow with the edge of his thumb, still clutching his pen in that hand. “To be frank, it unsettles me very much.”

He fell to musing again, his warm amber eyes clouded with thought; after a bit, he interlaced his fingers so he could set his chin on them, his gaze resting on the low bookshelf across the room but obviously seeing something else in his mind's eye instead, lost in the contemplation of problems more direct and dire than the usual intellectual curiosities with which he grappled in this study. If he had more to say, he didn't show it, his gaze moving from the bookshelf to fall on his half-done work on the table around him. At last he pulled himself up, squaring his shoulders, reaching for a pen. Aeleus took this as permission to stir, and it made Ansem look to him, as if he'd nearly forgotten he was there.

“Aeleus, before you go...”

“Sir?”

“The orphaned boy...Ienzo. How is he faring?”

Aeleus hesitated, wishing that he knew the answer.

“I suppose Even is seeing to him well enough, Your Lordship.”

“Of course.” Ansem's frown deepened. “What an awful thing to happen to a child. To anyone, of course, but especially a child.”

He made a small, looping swirl in the corner of a piece of scrap paper to get the pen flowing again.

“We must get the poor boy back to his family, whomever is left. I will have to look into it properly tomorrow. There's simply been so much else to attend to...Remind me of it in the morning, if I don't mention it myself.”

Aeleus bowed his head in acknowledgement, and Ansem sorted through his papers, looking for whichever one had occupied him before he'd fallen asleep. When he found it he pulled it close, his bright eyes skimming it, and for the briefest moment, some of the light in them flashed anew, as he mentally set himself to the sombre task at hand. It took him perhaps another half-minute to remember that Aeleus was there.

“My pardon, Aeleus. You are dismissed.”

It was not Aeleus's place to give orders to the ruler of Radiant Garden, and though Braig or Dilan would probably have ventured to tell Ansem not to push himself too hard, Aeleus simply nodded and bowed himself out. His last impression was of Ansem drawing the draft of his official statement closer, resolutely setting pen to paper, the lines on his brow pronounced in the harsh light of the lamps above.


End file.
